


Use It Up

by winchestersinthedrift (vaneharriet)



Series: Het SPN Oneshots [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Heart, Werewolf, mid-episode, s2e17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 02:23:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2905748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaneharriet/pseuds/winchestersinthedrift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things that happened during the hours we don't get to see in Heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Use It Up

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my epically great beta @smithandwinchester.
> 
> So we reach into the raging chaos, and we pluck some small glittering thing, and we cling to it, and tell ourselves it has meaning, and that the world is good, and we are not evil and we will all go home in the end. - Anne Rice

The first time that Sam woke up that night to find the other side of the bed empty, he found Madison in the kitchen, cross-legged with her back against the front of the fridge. He sat down facing her and shifted forward so that his legs were on either side of her, folding them behind her against the fridge door. They were so long that it wasn't even close to a tight fit, her sitting cross-legged inside his folded legs, her knees pressed up against the insides of his thighs. She leaned back a little and felt now his shins across the small of her back instead of the coldness of the fridge door. Sam ran the backs of his fingers down the outside of her arms, ended with his palms resting just against her kneecaps, not pushing but pressing with enough resistance to register their presence. His hands were so big that even cupped around her knees his fingers reached to the bottom of her faded boxer shorts. His thumbs rubbed soft half-circles across the insides of her thighs. For a long moment he just looked at her with an expression of reserved thoughtfulness. Her head was tipped a little down and she was looking at her hands, but Sam thought that she hadn’t been crying. Not just now, anyway. 

'Madison' he said finally, softly, shaking the hair out of his eyes rather than break off touching her knees, ‘you alright? can’t sleep?'

She shifted forward, so that the top of one foot pressed against the crotch of his briefs. The line of his cock stiffened a little, quickened back against her foot. She smiled up at him, such an easy genuine heart-flash of a smile that Sam laughed a little in his throat to see it.

'Doesn't matter,' she said, rubbing her foot up and down the length of him without breaking her gaze, 'doesn't matter. I'd rather talk about this.' 

He grabbed her by the ass then, fast, and lifted her so effortlessly into his lap that she hardly knew it had happened - still cross-legged, but now with her shins pushed up across his abs and his erection pulsing erratically up against her legs. She moved to touch his face, but he grabbed her hands and held them against his ankles, stretched behind her back. The posture left her a little unbalanced, her core straining to compensate, each shift and wiggle increasing the friction between his bulging briefs and the heat between her thighs.

'First,' Sam said, conversationally, but with so genuine an undercurrent of concern that her heart tripped a little, 'tell me what’s going on.' One hand still easily held her arms pinned, but the other came to rest across her thigh and he began to thumb lazily across her clit. She shuddered a little, tried to move up against him, but he kept hold of her hands and leaned forward instead to breathe up against her neck. 'What's the matter,' he said again, into her ear this time. 'Madison, tell me what’s wrong.’

She nearly laughed, thought to brush the question off, but Sam drew a little back and she saw that he wasn't laughing. His thumb was still stroking her but otherwise he sat perfectly still, a tiny crack playing at the corner of his mouth, looking full into her face. He was so gorgeous, all rumpled hair and jawline and muscular neck running down to his collarbone, cast in fluttering shadow from the fritzing fluorescent light in her bathroom down the hall. She didn't want to move, didn't want to say anything, to let time move on and take her past this moment, this night, with sudden terror and salvation so recently thrust upon her and Sam’s lips inches away and his thumb rousing a throbbing ache down her centre. She could still feel him inside her from last night, still stung pleasurably with over-sensitivity, a rawness of body and soul.

In one quick sudden movement Sam gathered her close up against his chest and kissed her. She rose up on her knees and straddled him, her face just a bit above his and a knee on the floor on either side of his hips. He put both big hands on the top of her head and pulled her down against him, pulled almost into the strength of his own muscles, tight-battened want in every flex and line of the forearms that framed her head. She was drowning in him, teeth and lips and voice lost in his mouth, her very breath coming now by way of his musky nighttime smell and the faint taste of her spearmint toothpaste on his tongue. Her entire life Madison had been if not an anxious kisser than a deliberate and self-monitoring one: conscious always of where her lips and teeth and nose were, trying to do it properly, to kiss to maximum effect and minimum slobber, to not repulse. But with Sam all self-analysis, all anxiety over either technique or viscosity was not so much consciously banished as obsolete, turned to instant effervescence by the forcefulness of Sam's mouth on hers and on her face and neck, his teeth on her lips and grazing round her jaw, his kisses urgent and openmouthed, almost frantic. She felt breathless and taken outside of herself, the cracks and terrors in her mind filled in and covered over with sensation. She was trembling all over. 

He checked himself with a visible effort, pulled back and looked at her, his eyes thick and dark with wanting her but sober and still concerned. 'Madison, really. I want to know. What's going on?’

She gave up even before she started, knew she wouldn't be able to articulate it, not even with a clear head and certainly not now, with Sam hard and throbbing just beneath her and his chest heaving slightly against her breasts. But she tried. 

'All my life -' she said, and paused, 'I've … I've tried so hard to do things right, you know. To follow instructions and - and hit the marks.' She stopped again, stared a little bleakly over Sam's shoulder into the middle distance. He wrapped both arms full around her and held her tight and rumbled a little breath of response deep in his chest, and she kissed his nose and kept talking pressed lightly against his face. 'And, you know, I’ve hit them. I got a degree and a job and this apartment, and a boyfr- well, that one ended badly,' and here she broke slightly towards hysterics, but caught herself and smiled wryly at Sam instead. 'But at the beginning he was a piece of the thing too. Sam—‘ she slumped a little against him, here, and looked away and he saw her set her jaw, ‘I've always checked off the boxes, you know? But things never really felt OK. And now - this - the world has actual monsters in it - and I was one of them - and - and - just breathing feels surreal, Sam, after yesterday. I feel like I’ve … I’ve lost all my handholds on the world.' She broke off abruptly, embarrassed by her own sentiment, and went on so softly that he hardly heard her but could feel her lips against his face, 'I was also thinking that I'd like to have you inside me again before you guys leave tomorrow.'

She drew back and looked at his face, and the expression on it flickered and darkened, a flirty smile playing around his lips but dark sparks glancing in his eyes. Madison dragged a thumb against her own lips, pulled the lower one down, looked up through her eyelashes at him. She was almost drunk on a visceral awareness of his masculinity, the smell of his sweat and the stubble across his face and the force of his shoulders and chest and thighs. Goddamn cavewoman, she said to herself, but didn't care, only wanted him to take her, slam her up against a wall as he had last night, drive hard into her aching cunt, possess her utterly, bring her to such a wanting that she would lose herself entirely and be reduced, ground down to guttural moans. 

But he was not going to take her, just yet, not totally. Instead he picked her up and held her, legs dangling, held her not against the wall as he had last night but standing in the middle of the room, so that her only frames of physical reference were his hand open and flexing under her left asscheek and the overwhelming sensations of him against the front of her. With the same hand that held her up he hooked the wrist of her right hand and the two small fingers of her left so that her arms were stretched almost at full length behind her. The sense of confinement and the closeness of him pressed again her breasts and belly and hips sent a low clenching pang through her pelvis. She wriggled her arms ever so slightly, not to escape but to provoke the tightening of his fingers around her wrists and the jerk that brought her hips harder against him. She brought up her heels and ground them up his ass, got a big toe into the top of his briefs and scratched sideways with a toenail. Sam's mouth tugged sideways towards a leering kind of dimple. Madison pulled on her arms again and said, very low, drawing out the syllables, 'Sam, how ‘bout you fuck me till I forget what day it is'. He grunted at this, a low visceral thing that she could feel in her thighs pressed against his sternum, but apart from that he was perfectly still, ruthlessly still, a calm before inexorable storm, and she felt a dizzy wave of sharp arousal wash through her, flood down the back of her neck and down between her legs. 

'Madison,' he said, levelly, still perfectly still, still holding her in a vise, 'I'll fuck you till you forget your own name, don't you worry about that. But about the other-' he paused, let go of one of her hands and laced his free one through its fingers, held it up in the air beside their faces, 'as far as handholds on the world go, here’s one. You’ll find other ones. And I think you’ve dealt with demons and ghosts before and not the ones you take down with a gun.’ He hesitated, hitched her up in his arm and headed towards the back of the apartment. 'You’re gonna be great Madison. What you need right now is a nice soothing shower to get you back to sleep.'

All the way down the hall and then standing in the bathroom while he closed the shower curtain, ran the water, checked the temperature, Sam held her easily against his front with one arm and hitched her ever so slightly up and down against his cock. His briefs were off now and so were hers and before they even got in the shower Madison had almost come from the friction of her clit against his head and the possessing encirclement of his hand gripping tight around her ass. She arched against him instinctively but he held her still, one thumb at the base of her spine digging in to the threshold of pain, and she whimpered and pulled raking hands through from his scalp to the ends of his hair.

He let go of her long enough to step into the tub himself, brace his back against the far wall and slide down until his thighs were perpendicular to it and his feet braced hard against the porcelain bathtub. Madison climbed into his lap facing him and Sam grabbed her hips as she moved up to take him and held her just above his cock. It brushed up against her swollen centre and she squirmed towards it, but he tipped his head all the way back and looked up at her with a sort of languid enjoyment playing round his lips. 

'Madison,' he said, and his voice was so husky between arousal and recent sleep that she felt a new rush of hot wetness between her legs, 'no talking. Don't,’ pausing between each word, ‘even – make - a sound. If you make a sound, I stop. All you have to do right now is sit here and be quiet.' He brought her down on his cock then, hard, and held her there for a long quivering moment, pressed down so close against his groin that his curly hair scratched up into her folds. She could feel his thighs clenching under her ass and her own legs were already beginning to tremble. She pressed her feet against the ground to raise herself, but he brought his hands up under her knees, made her slip, pushed her back down around him. His hands were so big that his fingers came within an inch of meeting around her hips, and his thumbs pressed deep circular motions into her lower belly. She groaned, then, and he froze, raised his eyebrows and shook his head a little at her, dimples erupting in his cheeks but his jaw set hard and straight. 

'If you make a sound,' he repeated, 'I stop,' and waited a full ten seconds. By the time he started moving again, rolling his hips into her, the anticipation had made her nipples hard and pebbly. She put her hands on his shoulders and moved with him, kissed his lips and his jaw and his neck, wanted to inhale them, wanted to become utterly welded to them. She was gasping a little into his mouth but otherwise was quiet, breathing raggedly through his slow withdrawals, rolling her eyes back into her head and shuddering as he entered her again. It wasn't so much the sense of being filled up that made groans tear sideways across her throat and the gooseflesh stand up on her arms; it was the feeling of pressure, of being pushed and stretched roughly inside and out, of being invaded not just by his length wet and thick and hot inside her but by the sensation and force of his sheer physicality. 

Sam was breathing heavily, now, the tendons in his neck standing out. He let go of her hips and kissed her again, roughly, one hand nearly encircling her neck and the other pulling sideways a little on her hair, dragged his lips hard down her neck and back up along her jaw, kissed her so deep and dirty and open-mouthed that she started to tighten and spasm around him, but before she could come he stood up, holding her round him with one forearm, twisted round and pressed her hard against the wall. With his other hand he grabbed ahold of the pipe of the shower head just above her head and used it for leverage, thrusting up into her and biting along the back of her shoulder. She rolled her head back against the tiles, baring her neck to him, her skin crawling and flushing under his teeth. After a few moments he settled into a rhythm that ground the root of his cock against her clit with every thrust. Until now she had managed to keep silent, digging her nails into Sam's back and neck and clenching her tongue between her teeth. Now, though, her cunt loosened and clenched around him, the last spasms before her rending dissolution, and she cried out sharp and needy. He stopped, stopped on a pin, stood perfectly still breathing heavily and smirking at her from under the dripping matted mess of his hair. 

'I said,' he growled, 'be quiet or I'll stop.' 

She lasted three seconds, shook her head sideways, pursed her lips and laughed at him and pulled back on his hair.

'Sam Winchester!' she said, 'you - you beast-' 

'Stop resetting the damn clock!' he bellowed at her, laughing hard enough that she could feel it not just in his chest but through his buttocks and hips and his cock still hard inside her, 'fuck, Madison, you're driving me crazy now too.’ He adjusted his grip on the shower head, moved an infinitesimal, debilitating bit inside her, set his jaw and made a face down at hers. 'Here,' he said, and in space of the single vowel his voice roughened and dropped an octave, 'I'll help,' wedged her harder against the wall, took his hand from under her ass and put it hard over her mouth. 

It almost made her come right then: her hips bucked hard and involuntary against him and she felt the heat in her pelvis start to spool and thicken. He had almost stopped thrusting now, was just leaning his weight against her hips, his cock jerking involuntarily inside her, and began rubbing his hips in slow circles that ground directly against her clit. She started moaning, then, into his hand, bore down onto him and clenched her ankles round his back, and the noises tightened his hand across her mouth. It wasn't so much the physical roughness, though she liked that too, that dissolved her then to the point of incapacity; it was the brief but total cessation of control, of self-determination, the absence of any power and so of any desperate compulsion to do it better, do it right.

Sam lowered his head to her neck again, shook water out of his eyes, grazed from her shoulder up to her earlobe with his teeth. She was flushed and beginning to shake against him, panting and passive, her hair plastered thick and dark over her face and her eyes glazed and lust-bright above his hand. 'Madison,' he breathed into her ear, caught out of the moment by the loveliness of her flushed arousal and the feeling of her pressed soft against his chest and of her cunt stuttering wetly around him, 'you - look - fuck - you're - golden and so - wet you beautiful - just – ohGODwhenyougroanlikethat - against my hand - oh madison god - ' He broke off and dropped suddenly to his knees in the tub - he barely fit, the porcelain squeaked wetly on either side of him - pulling her down on top of him and settling her straddling him with his arms wrapped full around her torso. She rode him fast now and he slipped his hand beneath her and helped move her up and down, setting her into a steady rhythm, and she was so far gone and so long aroused that almost at once she felt the familiar lurching tension in her pelvis. 

'Sam,' she gasped, pressed tight against his chest, his underarm hair sharp with musk and thick against her face, 'samsamsam, I'm almost there, I'm coming.' 

He pushed her gently back a bit, looked down at her, and for a moment he looked so boyish and gentle-eyed that she wanted to take his face in her hands and hold him safe and far away from all the monsters that stalked at night. But then her spine seized into molten brightness and she ground her heels into his ass and arched hard down onto him. 'Me too,' he grunted, clenched his teeth, threw his head to one side and closed his eyes, 'you first oh god fuck fuck so tight and -' 

He yelled when he came, cried out loud and gasping into her shoulder, and at the feel of him shuddering inside her Madison finally lost hold and broke against him and his hands and his cock and her arms around her became again her sole point of reference to the world. When she blinked and pushed weakly against his chest Sam had leaned back against the end of the tub and she shifted off of him and sideways so that she was curled up across the width of the tub, the back of her neck against Sam's bicep and her knees tucked up against his chest. His left arm lay between her legs and his hand on her stomach, tracing little circles with his fingers. She thought his profile was the handsomest thing she'd ever seen in her life. He lifted one knee and hit the shower nozzle with his heel and the water slowed to a trickle. In its absence goosebumps broke out on Madison's skin. Her finger followed a drop of water running down Sam's chest and her hand lingered there, over his heart, palmed out with her fingers just touching the tattoo below his shoulder. 

'Sam,' she said, 'you're my favourite thing.' 

\------------------

Three hours later, Sam woke up and found the other side of the bed empty for a second time that night. Three hours after that he was taking Dean's gun and gripping his reason round with knuckles shredded down to the white bone and blinking against the black that blurred round his vision and he was holding onto the gun and walking round the corner into Madison's living room.

She was looking straight at him, into his eyes, bleak and terrified but already a little lost in the psychosis of shock. Sam knew the look and seeing it said the smallest and most bitter thanks of his life. He walked straight up to her and put one big hand hard against her chest, hard with urgency and panic and with the weight of the suffocating film of grief inside him. He could feel her heart pounding and tripping under his hand, feel it as he had felt it against his chest hours before, but he kept his hand there as if devils were after her and he was her one last link to safety. Which he was, and she knew it and put her hands around his and squeezed with all the life in her, because

use it up, 

because this was the last moment.

'Sorry,' she said, so faintly that it was a breath, and his head jerked a little to one side in what in any other moment would have been a gesture of amusement.

'Don't say sorry,' he said, huskily, and held his palm still pressed hard against her chest, over her heart, and gathered up the keening cringing strands of himself because he could collapse later, later he could turn the world to mute and pull far into himself, later Dean would be there to push and grapple and glue him back together, but now 

use it up

because for her this was it, her last moment in the world. Tears were running down his throat and so thick in his voice that he had to stop and swallow. 

'Wait up for me,' he said, and pulled the trigger.


End file.
